From Palm to Foot: The Death of Jesus
by Fesd5
Summary: Andrew's Diary of the story of Jesus from Palm Sunday to Good Friday. My idea of what might be said in his diary; none from original text although with real happenings. rate: T but I don't believe there is anything gruesome or inappropriate about it. Please enjoy.
1. Palm Sunday

**Palm Sunday**

**Andrew's Diary**

Today, we arrived just outside of Jerusalem and Jesus was soon to claim His title as the Messiah. He warned us that He was soon to die and we all knew that whatever He said or told outside of His stories was true. We were all silent, and for the first time I was sure Jesus was lying. God won't let Jesus die! I'm sure He won't!

Without explaining further, Jesus sent two of us to fetch a donkey and the colt next to it. His specific words were something along the lines of: "Go into the village over there. As soon as you enter, you will find a donkey tied up and a colt with it. Untie them and bring them to me. If anybody says anything to you, say that the Lord needs it." I went and spied the ragged donkey alongside its offspring and helped take the donkey and her child to Jesus. We threw our clothes over them and Jesus mounted the young colt with elegant ease. The way He sat was as if Jesus sat upon a handsome stallion, but I was sure the smelly grey-brown thing He sat upon was merely an unbroken donkey.

He rode into Jerusalem with us twelve following behind Him in pairs as if we had practiced it ten times over. I was near the middle of the group and I watched carefully as Jesus rode the colt down the path with the mother right beside Him. I was utterly surprised that the colt who had never been ridden was walking as if he had been saddled a million times. People saw us and formed a large crowd, throwing down palm branches and their coats for Jesus to walk over. Kings were the only ones greeted this way, and at that moment I knew that they wanted Jesus as their King.

The reason they did this was because it was foretold that God's Messiah would ride into Jerusalem on a donkey and the people would put down palm branches or coats for Him to ride over. At first I did not understand as I would have thought that a brilliant white stallion would suffice but I have never been one to question God's prophecies. Then I realised that any old person who thought of themselves as worthy could ride in on a brilliant white stallion in handsome clothes. However, these rich people would never stoop to the level of riding on a stinky, ragged or wild donkey.

The people chanted, "Hosanna, Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord, the King of Israel" and I finally feel great relief. Jesus has been welcomed with open arms, and now I'm sure his prophecy of the fact that he shall die was a lie.

However, Jesus was already turning the people away and I frowned at His sudden arrogance which showed that first day in Jerusalem. We had been given a nice apartment and we were grinning and celebrating when Jesus slipped out. Naturally, I thought He needed comfort so I followed Him.

He went to His father's temple and I suddenly remembered the merchants and crooks nesting in there, selling under the eyes of God. Jesus went through and the next thing I hear, tables are being thrown over, money is being spilt, screams are erupting, and people of Jerusalem are fleeing from the temple. Animals followed, baaing or bleating or squawking, and Jesus yelled, "It is written, 'My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations', but you have made it a den for robbers!"

I peered round one of the columns and saw Jesus bent over, panting with tables all around Him shoved over and chairs upside down. I was about to go and make him feel better, but I was not sure about this wild Jesus whom none of us disciples have ever seen. I could have sworn I saw a tear trickle down His cheek as He knelt down to pray. I could have sworn He was mumbling rather than speaking in His clear, determined voice He usually used. I could have sworn He felt guilty. I know I feel guilty because I did not go to soothe Him, but Jesus needed time alone with God, and I could not interrupt their daily Father-Son time.

Yours Faithfully,

Andrew.


	2. Monday

**Monday**

**Andrew's Diary**

This morning I woke up to find a priest at our apartment door complaining about Jesus. Luckily, Peter – Jesus's best friend – was still in bed and so I didn't need to stop an argument although I would have liked to punch that priest too. He insisted that Jesus was taking over their post as preachers and after a while I just sighed and said, "Look, Jesus does what he does. I can do nothing about him preaching for God told him to." The priest left in a huff when I said that.

Once I had dressed into some day clothes, however, I couldn't help but go and observe Jesus. I wasn't spying as I wasn't feeding information through to a secret source, but I wanted to know about what Jesus was up to. Like a nervous parent, I want to know what my child is getting into trouble for. Even though, if anything, Jesus would be our father if God weren't.

When I arrived at the temple, people had gathered on the steps, eager to know what Jesus was saying despite yesterday's events. The preachers were gathered in the back corner, bickering with each other and shooting angry glares at Jesus. Jesus, Himself, surprised me.

He stood upon the chancel, hands on the lectern but not quite looking at it. Despite His casual stance – leaning slightly forward with His hands just grasping the page-stand as if He needed it to keep Him standing up but without insane strength – He seemed god-like or, should I say, _king_-like as no one could be god-like. He had the aura of that of a king and that obviously encouraged the people, hopeful for a ruler who could be like the kings and princes they knew of.

His face was stony with determination as He waved His hands around in wild gestures and told stories of God. Then, when the preachers came forward, Jesus asked the people to think of what He had spoken of and turned to the preachers. Each time His voice deepened and quietened threateningly, and He balled up His hands at His sides, obviously struggling to contain a flood of anger.

The children were the ones who contributed most even though they were not always making sense. After a while, I finally slipped forward but then the preachers appeared and I realised they were angry at Jesus for preaching. He hadn't noticed me so I stood close to them but with my back to them and listened.

A preacher said that Jesus was wrong. I bit my lip in anger. I mean, what do they know about God and Jesus?

Another preacher said that they were being paid to tell the tales and He was causing loss of money for them. Jesus said that He wasn't insisting money; He was just doing what God asked him.

After that I had to leave because, otherwise I would have blown my cover, and I hurried back to our apartment. When I got back, Peter was up and wondering where we had been. I told Peter that I had gone for a walk and hadn't seen Jesus anywhere. I hoped that my lies were believable.

I'm sure Jesus was glad I did that. Otherwise the preachers would have gotten in trouble and I'm sure both Jesus and God would have hated that, being the people-lovers they are. When Jesus got back, however, He said nothing to any of us and I'm certain He'll be going back to preach again tomorrow.

Yours Faithfully,

Andrew.


	3. Tuesday

**Tuesday**

**Andrew's Diary**

Jesus left even earlier this morning and when Thomas returned from his walk, he told us that Jesus was preaching at the temple. They all thought of it as a good sign as we ate breakfast, but I knew that this meant trouble. Already, a few people are starting to glare at us as we walk down the street. It scares me.

Last night I had a nightmare that Jesus went too far, and the Chief Priest had Him sentenced to death. Luckily, the Chief Priest doesn't have that power and Pontius Pilate – the Roman Governor – is fair. Never, has Pontius Pilate put an innocent man to death without a trial or without the people's vote. I trust he won't change his ways over one man.

Peter doesn't go out much except when needed. He seems to be very tired, but I am not sure if it is a trick, or if he is truly exhausted after our long journey. Whenever he leaves his room, he seems pale and unhappy and I wonder if he has a fever or something alike.

However, as soon as Jesus returns he is skipping around, helping out and smiling brightly at us. I can't help but be confused and nervous. I want him to be happy, seen as though he _is_ my brother. I want to help him, but he doesn't seem to answer any of my questions. Sometimes, I wonder if he has had a dream like mine; one where Jesus is arrested.

Jesus returned late tonight and when I saw Him alone, He seemed fatigued but when we all came in His face brightened and He asked us questions and socialised much more than usual. Usually, He just listens into our conversations as we chatter and laugh. We have gotten used to sharing our conversations with Him and it doesn't feel like He's intruding, but tonight He did not listen as intently. He spoke as if He were trying to forget something.

It's probably the preachers. In fact, I _know_ it's them. They must be trying really hard to knock Him off His course and to push Him so hard that He yells and goes crazy. I hope He doesn't get hit too hard; I don't want Him to frighten everyone.

The fact that I don't want Him to frighten anyone isn't for my benefit, however. I'm just worried that if He shocks them, then my dream will come true. And if that'll happen either way, I don't want it to happen sooner. If Jesus _is_ to be arrested like in my dream, even though I doubt it, I want it to happen later. In a few years perhaps? Not now. I want Jesus to keep leading us and to protect His people. To guide them down the right path.

Jesus stayed up when we went to bed. He didn't go to bed at the same time as us; He stayed up and sat by candle light in the main room. I worry that, instead of being a dream, the nightmare is a prophecy, warning me. What if it's true? What if He gets crucified or stabbed or drowned? Peter will stand by His side no matter what, but what about me?

Will I stay, or will I flee? I fear that I would flee. I fear that I would leave Jesus's side to save my own skin. I fear that I would betray Jesus.

However, if something like that did happen, I would both blame myself and my instincts. I would much rather die myself than have my nightmare a prophecy and Jesus killed.

But one cannot trade their life in the real world; not if the person is doomed already. I only hope that the nightmare is my fantasy, and not God's warning, as I lie down and sleep tonight.

Yours Faithfully,

Andrew.


	4. Wednesday

**Wednesday**

**Andrew's Diary**

Jesus stayed for breakfast this morning and I was relieved to see that he was smiling truthfully again instead of that faking grin. Peter seemed in higher spirits as well but the minute Jesus left, he sulked until most of us left. I stayed behind for a while when the others left to go into town, and watched Peter stumble through his door into his bedroom and slam the door. I'm beginning to think he's become an attention seeker and starting to doubt his fear for Jesus.

_I_ had the dream and _I'm_ not moping around, complaining that I have a belly ache and a sore head and a twisted ankle! _I'm_ not sulking in my room, waiting for the time to come so I can just sit here afterwards and blame myself for everything!

In fact, I feel ashamed of my brother. How could he mope when we're messengers and we have a message to pass on? I know that as soon as I found out God had chosen me for a disciple I leapt for joy at spreading the word of God and Jesus. In fact, I was so excited I sprinted forward without hesitation and haven't doubted that move ever since.

Yet, I know it is wrong to be ashamed of your brother as I would never be ashamed of Jesus and Jesus would never be ashamed of God. I try my best to be kind to my brother, but his whining and whimpering and moaning just set me on edge and I want to shout "On your feet! March out that door and spread the word before I cut your nose off!" but I know that would solve nothing. If anything, it would simply start a war between our sibling relationship and that's the last thing my parents or I would want.

Jesus returned at six o'clock. The disciples were with him and they were visibly exhausted whereas I was _mentally_ and visibly exhausted from running back and forth at Peter's every call. Personally, I am furious that as soon as Jesus's toe touched the floor inside our apartment, Peter shot through his door in a blur and began laughing and joking. However, at the same time I am pleased that Jesus arrived when he did. Eight hours of sprinting around at Peter's every beck-and-call was enough to make me sleep walk to my room where I collapsed on my bed.

I am now writing this late at night as I have recently woken up from that deep nap.

At dinner, according to John, Jesus seemed confused at the same time as certain. Of course, I cannot trust the words from another's mouth as they may be jumbled up, not that I shouldn't _believe_ them. Of course, I did not come by this information by myself, so those who read this should not blame me (although I don't want you to blame John either) for the wrong words and description.

Peter, apparently, also seemed happy and nervous. Just now, I can hear only his heavy breathing as he relives a nightmare that is so frightening, he screams and awakens me every night. I have seen no evidence that the others have heard it, so I cannot be sure if it is only me who can hear him and no others.

Of course, at least he's sleeping because sometimes he just hums to himself, sitting on the edge of his bed, and the song drills itself in my brain and floods my dreams, making me hum it all day the next day.

In the worst cases, however, I wake up and find everyone but Peter up. When I go to his room, he is lying shaking under the bed. Luckily, none of that has happened since we came to Jerusalem and I hope none will happen in the near future either. It is extremely frightening when I go in and see a gaunt, white figure curled up under the bed, quivering with fear and eyes wide and dark with horror.

Well, I had better get some rest whilst Peter has gone quiet, so I shall end as always.

Yours Faithfully,

Andrew.


	5. Maundy Thursday

**Maundy Thursday**

**Andrew's Diary**

A few hours ago Jesus, Peter, the rest of the disciples and I were all sitting on plush cushions around a slab on wood balanced on four thin legs. Jesus was sat at the head of the table with Peter on one side and John on the other. I sat next to Peter and the others were all sat in a random order. We all had plates but no food and Peter was snacking on grapes. Judas, the traitor, was sitting at the foot of the table looking as frightened as a pig on Sabbath. And he should have been too! The filthy beggar! But I'll tell you about that later.

There were only two candles, both thin and sitting in gold chamber holders with small handles. Jesus sat with one of them behind His plate, casting an eerie shadow on His face. The minute I saw His grave face I knew something was wrong.

On Jesus's plate there had been a loaf of brown bread, nicely made and obviously soft and easy to break. It had seemed so vulnerable and bare with nothing to protect it from the ravenous mouths that watered at the sight of it. I remember that Jesus seemed at peace, as if the bread was simply one of us sitting in the circle. As if the bread were there to keep us calm although it was making us go crazy.

He then lifted the bread and snapped a piece off it before handing the rest to Peter. My brother broke off a piece and handed it onto me. Once everyone had a piece, Jesus held his bread above his head and thanked the Lord before lowering it again. We stuffed the food into our mouths quickly and then watched as Jesus held out His two hands, His piece of bread still held safely in the cradle He had made for it.

"This is my body, broken for my people," Jesus declared. My mouth had gone dry and still does at the thought of us scoffing what symbolised His body.

He then passed a cup of wine to Peter who took a hesitant sip before handing it on. Wine slithered down the side of the cup and I stared at the red liquid before taking a quick swig and handing it on. With the cup back in Jesus's hands, all I could do was watch as our leader lifted the cup above His head and murmured a prayer of thanks.

"This is my blood, spilt for your sins," Jesus told us. Once again, I felt ill and I feel that same nausea as I write this.

Suddenly, something horrible overcame us and we all began arguing. We were arguing about who was to lead after Jesus and even Peter joined in. I feel horrible now that I could have done such a thing. I feel even more horrible because, the whole time I knew this would happen – that Jesus would somehow die – and yet all I did was argue. It was the only thing I could manage doing at the time!

Then, just as abruptly as we had begun arguing, Jesus glided forward and began washing our feet. Instantly, we all fell quiet. "By doing this, I wish to show you that you must love each other and serve each other as you love and serve God," Jesus told us. After a while, Jesus said, "One of you is going to betray me; one who was eating with me now."

We were all confused because we had all eaten with Him and so we took a step away from each other in horror.

"I wish to go to the Garden of Gethsemane and pray to my Father," Jesus told us.

None of us protested and so we escorted Jesus to Gethsemane and He littered us around as guards. Before He did that, though, He said, "This very night, you will all run away and leave me." It was the thing I had dreaded most and I knew He was right. Peter protested, insisting he would never leave his best friend. Then Jesus took hold of his shoulders and said to my brother, "Before the crow crows, you will say three times that you do not know me." Once again, Peter exclaimed a protest and I felt sick to the stomach. My own brother being accused of lying? Even though I believed Jesus was wrong, I now know He was right.

Jesus then left us and went to pray, asking us to keep guard. However, somehow we all fell asleep after such a crazy afternoon and when Jesus came to wake us He said He was going deeper into the trees. We nodded sleepily and fell asleep once again.

When I awoke again, I was awoken by the sound of boots trampling the ground and the clanking of swords. Once I had blinked the sleep from my eyes, I could see where the noise was coming from. A large crowd of soldiers holding torches were heading towards us and leading them was one of us.

A disciple.

And I'll tell you who that disciple was! The traitor, Judas! He mumbled something to the soldiers and they stopped. After a hideously long moment, Judas stepped forward and _kissed_ Jesus on the cheek! The nerve! I cannot believe he kissed Jesus.

And even worse, the minute he did the guards strode forward and encircled Jesus. Jesus simply said, "You betray me with a kiss?"

I watched sickly as the soldiers drew their swords and before I could stop myself, my legs were working. After several steps I found myself panting, fighting myself as the others fled as well. I felt so horrible that my instinct took hold of me when I was most needed.

The last thing I remember seeing that night was Peter drawing his sword and bravely facing the soldiers. Oh, what would I do to be brave like my brother? To stand before Jesus and threaten to injure anyone who came near. But I have never and never will have that kind of mind.

Not long ago, Peter came back to the apartment weeping. He told me that he had cut off the ear of a night out of fear and fright and I tried to soothe him. However, Peter protested that Jesus was right and the crow had crowed after he had told several people he did not know Jesus three times. I knew that it was horrible of me to think this, but I am glad Peter lied about it. If he had said anything, my brother would have been taken from me.

I know it is the most wicked thing to be glad that my brother's best friend was arrested and my brother lied about knowing his best friend and my leader, but I am still glad. I can't help it. If I had lost _both_ my leader and my brother in one day, I would have broken down.

And I fear I could never have been fixed.

Yours Faithfully,

Andrew.


	6. Good Friday

**Good Friday**

**Andrew's Diary**

Today was the most terrible day of the week. Jesus was put on trial, today.

It started with the Chief Priests taking Jesus to Pontius Pilate. After a small bouncing around, Pilate put Jesus up with a murderer called Barabbas in hope that the crowd would choose Jesus. I was in the crowd and I was shocked and horrified when the Chief Priests encouraged the people to vote for Barabbas! The blood loving man was freed and I watched as Pilate washed his hands. I knew what he meant then and I still know. The Roman governor was washing his hands of Jesus and showing that the blood of Christ was not on his hands, but the crowd's. I agree.

Jesus was forced to drag a crosspiece weighing fifty-six kilograms to the site, walking seven hundred metres to Golgotha where He was crucified. I do not know the exact details, but I did see the grey thunder clouds that rolled over the sky that day. Also, I heard guards saying that Jesus was looney. He was said to have said, "Father, forgive them…" as well as, "This day you will be with me in paradise." Also, apparently Jesus was given a sponge soaked in wine, vinegar, water and beaten eggs. Then it was said that He said, "It is over" before dying.

Jesus is dead now. I feel awful for what I wrote yesterday and I hope God will forgive my sins.

The crucifixion lasted from nine o'clock in the morning to three o'clock in the afternoon. Someone offered Him drugs but Jesus refused them.

I understand now. The sacrifice Jesus made to save us from our sins could not be done by my death or any others. I understand now that it had to be Holy, and that Jesus's fate was this. I cannot help but feel sympathy for Him even though He would tell me that I mustn't. Now I imagine Him as a workhorse bred to work until He died with exhaustion. Although it is disgusting and unforgivable of me for me to speak of God that way, I still think of it like Jesus was made to die.

I do not believe I could write any further for the rest of my days after this tragic event. I feel as if my feelings are useless compared to what Jesus could have said or Peter. And so I end here with my last entry.

Yours Faithfully For Ever After,

Andrew.


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